Chapter 8
Although the wheelbarrow made moving Harlow’s things much easier, the weight and distance soon wore down His stamina. His desire to leave his old house and get as far away as possible had sustained him for the last mile, but those feelings were diminishing, and the exhaustion of the day was setting in quickly.
He had made it a fair way back to Greenby, and was nearing the house of Mr. Gali. He was relatively certain that Mr. Gali and his son had already left for town. Harlow was running late, and the sunset which he had looked forward to witnessing earlier was now in its full awe-inspiring beauty, but completely spoiled due to Harlow's weariness.
It was all he could do to force his body to take one step after another. His arms shook from the weight of the wheelbarrow and his legs threatened to collapse at any moment. Still, through his stubbornness and willpower he slowly trudged forward.
He considered abandoning his belongings on the side of the road, but there was no cover that would be useful. He really didn't have anything of great value in his chest, just a few changes of clothes and some books. Books that he used to devour as a child, filled with stories of adventure and heroism. They were the basis of the values he strove for in his own life.
His books allowed him to explore magical worlds and live the lives of amazing people. They were his escape from the awful times he spent at home, and he realized that it was actually the memories of these stories that he treasured, not the books themselves. Things could be replaced, but memories were forever.
He pushed himself a few more steps forward, then dropped the wheelbarrow unceremoniously. His muscles refused to go any further. They quivered uncontrollably. His legs remained upright, but shook with protestations.
It was too much for him. He hated having to face his own weakness and admit he needed help, but he simply couldn't go any further. With a huge sigh and a few tears, he managed to painfully move the wheelbarrow to the side of the road.
"I may lose my material possessions, but I will always have the stories in my head." He thought of it as a small comfort.
He opened the lid and removed a clean change of clothing, as Lennard had told him to get some for the pyre. Then he closed the lid and shakily began walking away.
He hoped he would be able to recover his things tomorrow, but he held no high hopes. This road was frequented by farmers and merchants, and it was most likely that someone would claim his chest as theirs, or at the very least, remove the contents.
Even his own weight seemed extreme as he plodded forward. The sun was low in the sky, a slice of a yellow shining under the clouds. The sky was shot through with oranges and purples, creating a splendor to behold. But Harlow knew he would be walking in the dark soon.
The walls of the city were visible on the horizon, like a dark wall of shadow. Hopefully, there would be some lights aglow for tonight's pyre. He wasn't sure of the traditions practiced at a pyre, as this was the first he would have the opportunity to attend.
Slow step after slow step, Harlow hobbled forward. As the sun finally set and the sky darkened, taking the colors with it, a large glow formed in front of him. As he watched, his feet moving methodically and without thought, the glow quickly turned into flames jumping higher than the tops of the walls.
Harlow could now clearly see his path into town, the flames of the pyre large and bright. His sense of responsibility chided him for not being back in time to see the entire ceremony. A second thought entered his mind then: Would Lennard wonder where he was?
Harlow had never really had the opportunity to be cared for in the way he wanted. He cared for others, but had no one to care for him, until now. He swallowed with an audible gulp, but his mouth was much too dry to create the saliva needed to facilitate the function properly, and the scraping of his throat added itself to the list of pains he was attempting his best to ignore.
The thought of having someone worry about his well-being was foreign to Harlow. His father definitely didn't care. He had very few friends, and even among the people he would consider friends, he knew they understood his self-reliance. They might feel bad if something bad happened to him, but they weren't actively concerned for him.
But that situation had changed now. He would have considered Mr. Haramin as a friend before, but now he had become much more. The thought of having someone like that in his life somewhat lightened Harlow's step. He had a reason to get back to town, a reason to keep moving forward.
Lost in thought, Harlow stared at the dancing flames in the distance. He didn't hear the sound of hooves approaching until it was too late. He turned around just in time to see two large Equinalls jogging towards him. He jumped to the side of the road, but not before one of the Equinalls clipped his shoulder. He landed hard on the ground with an "Oomph!" and rolled. Stickers stung his skin as they entered his back and side. He had landed directly on a thorn vine.
"By the gods!" A voice called out above the sound of hooves and clattering wooden wheels . "Whoa."
Harlow wearily attempted to extricate himself from the sticker vine that ran along the ground. His hands found more stickers each time he tried to push himself up, and more and more of the tiny barbed stickers worked their way through his fur to find skin.
His mental state had become just as exhausted as his body. He was at his wit's end from all the many ups and downs of the day. To start the day as normal and be thrust into the death of someone he cared about. Then the fear of an unknown ritual being performed on him in the most awkward of places. Having that ritual backfire and cause him to fall in love with his mentor.
Now he had let go of his home. He had forsaken his father and let go of the only reminder of his mother. It was all just too much. Harlow's brain went into an unfeeling automation, shutting off everything non-essential. All emotion or pain was gone. He went numb.
Time seemed to slow down as Harlow stopped caring. He could be injuring himself now, but he didn't care and could no longer feel the pain. He pushed himself up from the ground and turned around, his only thought now was to get back to town. If he could just get back to the clinic, everything would be alright.
Once he was upright, the farmer who was driving the wagon came up and asked him if he was okay. With an emotionless voice, which seemed much too deep to be his own, Harlow answered, "I'll be fine."
"I'm awfully sorry. I couldn't see you until I was almost on top of you. The glow from the huge fire in the city had my whole attention." The farmer continued. "Do you think everybody's okay in there?"
"All but the one who's in the fire." Harlow answered in the same low monotone voice he had used before.
This answer took the farmer by surprise, and he involuntarily took a step back before really looking at the fellow he was talking to.
Harlow's dead eyes, without focus, reflected the flames from the pyre ahead. The white-colored mask of fur was barely discernible through the dust covering his face. Almost everyone in the area knew who had the white mask. This, above anything else, identified him.
"Harlow? Is that you?" The farmer asked skeptically.
Without looking at the farmer Harlow once again spoke, "Yes, Mr. Darlan." Was his only response. His hands and attention were occupied by removing the thorns from his skin where he could reach.
The Darlan house was located south of the city, so it was unusual for him to be returning from the West. He had delivered a large order of ale to the tavern in Garnich, which was the town west of here. He dabbled in brewing and would make deliveries to neighboring towns regularly.
"Well, I'm sorry for not seeing you there and causing your fall, but do you mind telling me what you mean by the person in the fire?" Mr. Darlan asked.
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Pulling a particularly long thorn from his hip and flicking it away, Harlow responded, "Granny died, it's her pyre."
"Old Granny? Damn.” The farmer took a moment to digest the news before asking, “How long ago, do you know?"
"This morning." Was all the response Harlow gave.
"And her pyre is tonight? What happened to the three days?" Mr Darlan asked.
"Ask the Mayor." Harlow said and turned to begin walking away.
"The Mayor?" Mr. Darlan asked in confusion. Then realized Harlow was moving off. "Hey, do you want a ride? It's the least I can do after knocking you off the road." He added.
Harlow stopped dead in his tracks and took a moment to consider before answering the farmer. "Yes, that would be appreciated."
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The ride was not comfortable. Each bump drove the thorns still remaining in Harlow's skin deeper, but he was beyond caring or feeling anything now. His hands were still attempting, unsuccessfully, to pry out the remaining thorns as the two men arrived in town.
Mr. Darlan drove as close as he could to the main street where the pyre burned high and bright. The area was filled with people, food, drink, and music. Unlike the somber occasion Harlow assumed this would be, the town gathered and celebrated.
"I see the physician over yonder, you should make your way to him. He'll have to remove those thorns for you." Mr. Darlan spoke to Harlow and pointed to his right. "I'm gonna go find me something to drink." He continued and dismounted.
At the sight of Lennard, Harlow's mental barriers began to crack. He jumped down from the seat of the wagon and winced as he landed. He slowly began weaving his way through the crowd to where he could see Lennard talking to the mayor.
Each step seemed to break another piece of the crumbling mental wall Harlow had erected in his mind. It was the only thing holding him together at the moment. The mental blockade kept the pain away, allowed Harlow to stay numb, and glued him together long enough to arrive back in town.
Now, with his goal in sight, his partner and physician standing mere feet in front of him, Harlow's defenses crumbled. He stretched out his hand to Lennard and saw his vision going dark around the edges.
"Help me," he whispered.
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Lennard spent his afternoon preparing the talisman for the pyre being held at sunset. The Aramanth flower had to be completely processed or the individual ingredients would spoil.
He started by removing the seed at the center of the flower. Using long tweezers, he carefully extracted the poisonous seed and wrapped it in a small paper envelope marked with a bold red X. This was the part of the flower used in the satchel he was preparing. When burned, the poison released a small dose of hallucinogenic smoke that calmed the minds of the attendees and allowed them to grieve and recover more quickly.
The rest of the flower also needed to be prepared and stored right away. Once he had stored the seed, he moved on to the petals.
The orange and blue petals were separated and then wrapped in paper as well. Each small envelope was marked with the color of the corresponding petals. The blue petals needed to dry for exactly twenty-seven days in order to achieve maximum potency. The orange petals only needed four days.
The last part was the stem. He extracted the glowing fluid using a needle and syringe. He injected the glowing sap into a stoppered vial. Once in the vial, the contents needed to be shaken until separated. So, he placed the vial in the centrifuge.
He then returned his attention back to the envelope marked with an X. For it to have the proper effect, the seed would need to be ground to a powder, roasted, and then suspended in Greywood sap. The sap was then spread on the inside of a small cloth pouch and filled with other aromatic herbs. Along with providing a potpourri which elevated mood when burned, the talisman was said to keep the spirit from returning to the mortal plane.
Necromancy had been outlawed many years before Lennard was born, but sometimes traditions changed meanings while keeping with the original ideas.
While the glowing fluid spun rapidly, Lennard donned a pair of thick gloves and very carefully grated the small seed into a shallow pan. He then took the pan and its contents to a burner and toasted the powder, keeping it in constant motion to ensure an even distribution of heat. Once the dark brown powder turned pale yellow, it was ready to be added to the Greywood sap.
The measurements did not need to be precise in this application. As long as the amount of sap was more than the volume of the powder, the mixture would succeed. So, using a small funnel, Lennard poured the powder into the sap and placed the stopper in the vial. He then rotated the vial upside down and then right side up seven times, to ensure proper mixing.
"There we go," Lennard spoke aloud. "Time to get everything ready for tonight." He looked out the window and observed the sky losing brightness. Sunset wasn't far off. He hoped Harlow would be back soon. He could use the lad's help with the satchel.
Lennard was still anxious about the day's events. Preparing the Aramanth flower and doing things related to work and routine had eased his anxiety for a time, but he still knew his life had changed dramatically.
He had never felt this way before: missing Harlow, wanting to know if he was okay, and worrying about him. He looked out the window and sighed. He wasn't sure if it was a lament for the life he had lost or a sigh of gratitude for what he had gained. Probably a little of both.
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"That is why the elevated walkway will have to be built by the businesses on both sides of the street. The town can't force businesses to build and maintain something attached to their buildings, you see." Kyaro Ansong tried to explain to Lennard. He was well into his cups already. "But I can encourage them to, hey... isn't that Har, Har--"
"Harlow!" Lennard exclaimed as he turned from the Mayor's drunken blathering to see his apprentice moving towards him. He looked at the young man with a huge smile on his face. He was a cup or two in already himself.
As Harlow came closer, Lennard's smile faded. He saw his new lover staggering towards him as if he were drunk, but there was something very wrong with the way he looked. Lennard didn't care if Harlow decided to imbibe, but this was not what he saw. His clothes were a mess of dried dirt and blood, his eyes were unfocused, and his feet dragged with each step.
Before Harlow's legs could completely collapse out from underneath him, Lennard lunged forward and grabbed him. He lifted him up into his arms in one fluid motion. "Harlow, what happened?"
Harlow focused on Lennard's face for a second and spoke in a hoarse, dry voice. "Help me."
This was all the incentive Lennard needed to instantly sober up. He took off on a run, barreling through the townspeople. He was making his way straight to his clinic. People gasped when they saw the boy in his arms, and questions flew, but he refused to answer them as he dashed passed as quickly as his stubby legs would carry him.
Lennard's heart beat hard in his chest, not only from the exertion but from the claws of fear now wrapped around his heart. He had finally found someone who he loved. He wasn't about to lose him the same day he'd found him.
Down the alleyway he ran, ignoring the people occupying the dark corners. He dashed across the lonely street and across the yard without pause. With a swift kick to the door, it went flying off its hinges and onto the waiting room's floor.
The loud bang and clatter as it landed and bounced off the desk barely registered to Lennard's senses. He dashed in and rounded the right corner. He waved a hand over the light rune as he entered the examination room. The overhead lights quickly blossomed into life and drenched the room in a pale white glow. Lennard gently laid Harlow down on the table.
Without hesitation, Lennard extended his claws and ripped the boy's clothing from his body, revealing numerous bleeding wounds. Immediately he saw the reason for the wounds and cursed under his breath.
The thorns which were now sprouting forth from the still open wounds, were called Iminit thistle. This thorn lodged itself into the skin and took root. Judging by the length of the new sprouts, Harlow had fallen on the briar vine over an hour ago. This meant the removal process would be difficult, and judging by the number of visible sprouts, Lennard grew seriously concerned for his lover's survival.
"You will not die on me." Lennard mumbled under his breath. He turned to the side instinctively to tell Harlow to fetch the items he needed. The realization hit him even harder. No one stood there waiting for his orders because this time it was Harlow on the table.
Before he could move his head back to his suffering patient, movement caught his eye and the Poldare twins slid to a stop in the doorway. "Len, what's going on?" they spoke in unison.
A small smile touched Lennard's lips at the sight of the twins. They had been dear friends to both of them, and their presence here lightened his heart and greatly increased the chances of Harlow’s survival.
He quickly took charge and told them what to fetch from the laboratory and where it would be found. Neko ran off to gather the supplies, while Niko moved closer and looked Lennard in the eye. "He'll be okay. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it."
The sincerity and compassion the brothers displayed brought tears to Lennard's eyes. "Thanks guys," he spoke in a cracked voice when Neko reappeared from the laboratory.
The next few hours were rough for everyone present. Neko was able to administer anesthetic so that Lennard and Niko could remove the thorns without Harlow twitching from the pain. Niko, while more used to using his brute strength to solve problems, demonstrated an adept skill at using his fingers delicately. His claws were sharper and finer than Lennard would have guessed.
Several people stopped through the night to inquire about the boy's welfare. Only two people stayed though. Mika, the twins' little sister, and Mrs. Mannather. She had brought Mika over to the clinic after the people had dispersed from the pyre ceremony.
Mrs. Mannather had gathered food from the pyre and helped feed the men working on Harlow as well as herself and Mika. She then brought blankets and helped the young girl get comfortable on the couch in the waiting room. She now stood quietly in the examination room and gathered the thorns and bandages which littered the floor.
With the help of these great people, Lennard was finally able to remove the last thorn from Harlow's left hand as the sun peeked over the eastern horizon. He handed the twisted root to Mrs. Mannather, who held out a bin full of refuse.
"That's it. It's up to his will and fortitude now." Lennard announced to the people there. He reached for a tin that Neko had brought but he hadn't used yet and popped the top off with his thumb. "I appreciate all the help you have given me, but I totally understand, and actually think it would be for the best for all of you, if you went home and got some rest. Leave the rest to me."
An extremely pungent odor quickly filled the room from the jar in Lennard's hands as he told the others to go home and sleep. "This part is not pleasant." he said and wrinkled his nose. "I will keep you informed of his progress, I promise."
The twins and Mrs. Mannather all covered their noses and nodded their agreement. They patted Lennard on the shoulder as they left and told him to get some rest as well, and then they exited the clinic. Lennard truly appreciated their help, but wanted this part to be just between him and Harlow. The odorous salve was unpleasant, but Lennard had used it so frequently that his sense of smell had become semi-accustomed to it.
It took another hour to spread the aromatic salve over Harlow's body. Lennard paid special attention to the deeper wounds on the boy's hip. By midmorning, he was finished and double-checked each hole for possible signs of plant growth.
Lennard's labor was finally over. After slathering the ointment over Harlow's body, he knew both of them needed rest and recuperation. Normally, he would take the patient to the recovery room and monitor them as they slept. This time, Lennard had another plan.
Harlow was not a typical patient. He wasn't a typical person to Lennard anymore, so rather than leaving him alone to rest, he carried the limp body across the alley to his house and set him down gently on his bed.
He locked the doors to his house, which is something he rarely did, and lay down next to his sleeping partner. He stayed on Harlow's right side, which had less of the puncture wounds so as not to disturb him. He laid his arm over the boy's chest and held him close.
Lennard told himself the position allowed him to feel any movement or changes Harlow may have while he slept, but in his mind, he knew the position just felt good. He also knew Harlow wouldn't object. He closed his eyes and drifted into a light sleep.
He did feel every move the boy made though, and woke with every twitch, checking to see if Harlow was still okay. Together in this fashion they rested through to the afternoon.